


Five Times Fernando Sucre Pretended to Have Sex With Michael Scofield

by thingswithwings



Category: Prison Break
Genre: Chromatic Character, Community: kink_bingo, Dirty Talk, Fake/Pretend Relationship, M/M, Prison Sex, Silence Kink
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-07-24
Updated: 2009-07-24
Packaged: 2017-10-24 01:03:10
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,556
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/257116
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thingswithwings/pseuds/thingswithwings
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Just hang a sheet, Sucre. I'll be back in twenty minutes."</p>
            </blockquote>





	Five Times Fernando Sucre Pretended to Have Sex With Michael Scofield

"Just hang a sheet, Sucre. I'll be back in twenty minutes."

Fernando doesn't even bother to protest, just lets down the sheet that Michael taped to the wall last week ("It's simpler this way, Sucre") and helps him pull the toilet out ("I need to find the southern tier electrical control, Sucre") and watches as Michael disappears into the wall, leaving him with nothing but a sheet between him and discovery. It's the middle of the day; the guards could come by anytime, and he doesn't have the first clue in hell why Michael needs to get to that electrical control box ("It's better for you if you don't know, Sucre").

Asshole.

From outside the cell, there are a few catcalls, especially from the guys across the way who notice every time they put the sheet up. Fernando sighs and rests his forehead against the cool metal of the top bunk frame.

Time passes. Fernando climbs into his bunk and pretends to himself that he's reading a magazine. It's been at least twenty minutes now. Maybe thirty. Forty. He wonders if he should go into the wall and see if Michael's okay.

There's a sudden metal _clangclang_ on the bars of his cell, and he jumps, startled out of the silence.

"What in the christ are you faggots doing in there?" It sounds like Geary. "You had this sheet up last time I walked by."

"Nothing, boss," Fernando replies, automatically. He freezes, sweat breaking out on his temples. _Don't come in_ , he wills the guard, _don't come in don't come in don't come in . . ._

"Takes you half an hour to jerk Scofield off?" Geary sounds suspicious now, and his silhouette-hand is putting away his silhouette-baton in preparation for opening the cell. Fernando buries his face in his hands as the other prisoners start calling out and laughing and making kissy-sounds.

 _"Takes that long to find Scofield's dick, boss!"_

 _"Hey Sucre, hope you still got top bunk in there!"_

 _"Open the door! Let's have us a show!"_

That last sounds like T-Bag, the fucker, and Fernando makes a mental note to beat his ass down next time he sees him in the yard.

The Geary-shape outside hesitates, then steps back to the place the bulls stand when the cell's about to be ordered open. It's almost like the whole thing's in slow motion; Fernando sees the guard step back, hears his long, slow intake of breath as he prepares to call out –

"Open forty!" The bars slide open, fluttering the sheet in its wake. All the other cons hoot and cheer.

He made the bottom bunk up to look like someone was in it, but that's not going to count for shit if they come in. He moans involuntarily.

The guard's hand, reaching toward the sheet, hesitates.

Fernando gets it immediately, and decides this is it, this is all or nothing, and if he ever wants to escape, ever wants _Michael_ to escape –

"Ohhhhh," Fernando says, experimentally. The guard's hand withdraws, hesitates again. Fernando steps it up. "Oh, uh, _baby_ ," he tries, a little louder. "Baby, yeah, ayyyyy, _dios mio_ – " Like an afterthought, Fernando rocks back and forth a little, making the bunk shake and squeak.

"Close forty," Geary calls out, sounding disgusted.

"Ayyyyy, baby, yeah, oh," Fernando offers to the guard's retreating silhouette, like closing remarks.

The other guys catcall a little more, but it's not so strange for people to have sex in prison, so the entertainment dies down quick. Fernando takes a deep breath and lets his head fall back against the pillow. When Michael comes back, the cell will be safe, the plan will be safe. That's what matters.

*

When Michael returns from the hole in the wall, he has soot on his face and it looks like something bit him on the hand, but he's got that soft, satisfied look that means things are going according to plan.

"What bit you?" Fernando points at his hand.

"What? Oh," Michael says, "rusty pipe. I'll get a tetanus booster from Doctor Tancredi tomorrow. I got to the control box, though. It won't be a problem."

Fernando nods. Michael must've forgotten that he never told him what the problem was in the first place. For no reason at all, he says, "There was some trouble while you were gone. A guard came knocking."

Michael, who had been bolting the toilet back to the wall, turns to look at him, focusing all of his attention on him, meeting his eyes. His hands still like he's a robot waiting for more input. Sometimes he really creeps Fernando out.

"Yes?" Michael says.

"Yeah, don't worry, I scared him off. Had to, uh, do some convincing, though." Even though he brought it up, Fernando suddenly feels weird about the whole thing. "You might find your prison rep isn't what it was."

"Oh," Michael says. Then he quirks one eyebrow, and nods, and reaches out to clap Fernando on the shoulder. His hand is dirty from crawling through the tunnels and warm and firm. "I told you I didn't care about that. Thanks for taking care of things."

"No problem, Papi," Fernando says. He shakes his head, then climbs back up to his bunk to finish his magazine.

*

After that, Fernando figures, their reps are pretty much blown, so they might as well be safe. It's like he's got his grandmother's voice in his head: _a little prevention, bebé_. So now he doesn't wait for the bulls to get suspicious or open the cell.

"Ohhh, Michael, yeah, just like that, suck it," he says, turning over the page of his novel. He stifles a yawn; it's like the whole plot of the book is _dinosaurs!_ and _more dinosaurs!_ and sometimes _holy shit, even more dinosaurs!_. Maybe Michael can tell him something better to read.

There's a shuffle like shoes outside the cell, so Fernando starts thrusting his hips to make the bed squeak. Turns out the most realistic motion is the best for faking it. "Take it hard, unnnnnh, baby." He thrusts a little harder and lets himself breathe loud, fast, panting. He puts the book down.

"Ayyyy, si, si, si," he groans, not loud enough to carry very far, but just loud enough to be heard by a guard walking by. He keeps the bed rocking.

Suddenly, there's a soft, swift knocking sound, and for a second Fernando is bizarrely certain that some bull is knocking on the prison bars – but no, of course not, it's Michael coming back.

"Uh, come in?" Fernando calls.

When Michael comes through the wall, he looks red in the face. Fernando's never seen him blush before.

"Sorry, Sucre, I didn't mean to, ah, interrupt."

"Huh? Oh, no, no no no, Papi, I wasn't jerking off. That's our cover, remember?" He nods his head at the sheet covering the bars.

"Oh, I – I guess I didn't realise." Michael nods shortly to himself, then moves to sit on his bunk, keeping his eyes on the floor.

"I can stop if you want," Fernando tries, after a minute. "It's just, I thought, a little prevention – "

"It's all right, Fernando," Michael says, softly. "Thank you."

*

"Heard you _maricones_ going at it again last night," a grinning, gap-toothed con says to him the next day while shoveling reconstituted mashed potatoes onto Fernando's tray. His name is Andy or Agusto or something like that, and he's in the cell next door. "But I never hear the new fish make a peep, now why is that?"

"I gag him," Fernando says. "You got any gravy?"

*

  
One evening, Michael unscrews the toilet and tells Fernando that he's going to be gone for hours, that he'll be gone past bedcheck, that Fernando will have to cover for him.

"You want to give me some warning? What am I supposed to do?"

Michael grimaces. "I know, I'm sorry. This situation with Abruzzi has come up suddenly. But I can count on you, right?"

Fernando sighs, throws up his hands. "Yeah, yeah, you can count on me."

That night, there's no sheet over the bars: just him and his pillow and Michael's pillow and blankets thrown over the whole thing to make a dark, shapeless lump. The click-click of the guard's approaching footsteps tell him when to start, so he rolls his eyes and prays that God doesn't have His eye on this particular sparrow and starts humping the pillows beneath him and moaning.

"Michael," he says, feeling ridiculous. But he's committed now. He throws in some groans, but knowing that the guards could see him, could even be watching right now, makes it harder to do the usual sex-talk. So he just rocks himself against the pillows and says Michael's name again, and then again, and again until it becomes a litany: "Michael, Michael, oh, Michael, ayyyy, yes, Michael," on and on until he's pretty sure the guard's moved on, until their cover's secure, until the coast is clear.

But the slow, lazy friction of the pillows he's been humping is getting to him, making him a little hard, making his nipples feel tight and sensitive and Fernando takes a slow breath and considers it: the tension in his body that could dissipate or could –

He puts his hand into his sweats, grips his cock, teases himself until he's harder. Michael's going to be gone for hours. Might as well make good use of the time.

Fernando strokes himself slow, takes his time about it, letting the pressure build easily until it washes over him, inevitable, the pleasure body-deep and satisfying.

When he comes, he almost calls Michael's name again, just out of habit.

*

"Ayyyyy, Michael, yeah, take it, suck my dick, _si_ – "

"Hey Sucre," Michael says, coming through the hole in the wall.

"Hey." Fernando finishes the chapter he's on while Michael bolts the toilet back to the wall. Then he puts his book down and watches Michael grin widely and retrieve a tiny light bulb from his pocket.

"We're on," Michael says.

Fernando shrugs. "Cool."

He starts the next chapter. Michael hides the light bulb by taping it under his mattress.

"How's the book?" Michael asks, after a short pause.

"It's good. No dinosaurs at least. I'm at the part where the guy calls home, and the king – "

"Am I always on the bottom?"

Fernando leans over the side of the bed to look at Michael. "What?"

"When you pretend to the guards that we're – am I always, uh." Michael is sitting on the side of his bunk, not looking up, untying and retying his shoelaces with ruthless precision.

"Oh, jeez, Papi – I thought, you said you didn't care, and – "

"I don't care," Michael says quietly, looking up at him now, meeting his eye squarely. He has on the same calm, neutral expression that he uses on the guards, on Abruzzi, on T-Bag, the one that he uses when he's lying to his cellmate, the one that makes Fernando sometimes want to punch him in the face, just once, just a little. Right now it doesn't make Fernando want to do that at all.

"I just wanted to know what role I played," Michael adds, shrugging.

A second later, long before Fernando can think of anything to say in reply, the guards call lights out. In the dark, Michael rolls to lie down on his bunk and pretty soon is either sleeping or pretending to sleep. Either way, Fernando figures, the conversation is over, so he goes to sleep himself.

*

"Would you just _push_ – "

"It's not – going – to go – in," Fernando pants, trying to change the angle a little.

"It'll fit if we just, if we – move your hand."

Fernando moves his hand, and they shove again, but the mattress refuses to be pushed through the little Michael-sized hole in the wall.

"I told you," Fernando says. He falls back to lie on the bottom half of the mattress.

"I don't understand," Michael says. "It should fit, I calculated the size of it and the size of the hole and it's supposed to fit."

"Well, if it's any consolation, I don't think it's coming back out either, Papi. I think it's wedged."

"If we scrunch it down," Michael says slowly.

"Scrunch? Is that a fancy engineering term?"

"Fuck off," Michael says, surprised into a smile. Fernando's surprised too, smiling too, because Michael hardly ever curses, and never when he's flushed with exertion and laughing at Fernando's jokes; this one just blooms out of his mouth like a sudden little expletive-flower.

They're sitting there, smiling at each other, half on top of the mattress with the toilet shoved to one side, when they hear the guard's footsteps outside the cell. It's nowhere near time for bedcheck yet. Michael turns off the little penlight they were using to navigate.

"Shit, he's early." Fernando looks over at Michael, whose face has gone from flushed and smiling to pale and calm in the second it took Fernando to glance outside the cell.

"We'll, you'll, have to." Michael nods at the sheet hanging over the cell bars.

Fernando rolls his eyes. "Oh, baby," he says, dryly. Michael punches him on the bicep, uncharacteristically playful.

"Michael, oh," Fernando starts, for real this time, putting some heavy breathing into it and raising his voice just loud enough. He's pretty practiced at it by now. Michael just sits there beside him and watches, head propped on one arm.

"Mmmmm, yeah, _yeah_ ," Fernando goes on, "Michael, Michael, do it – "

Beside him, Michael breaks into a full toothy smile, winks at him, and _groans_.

Fernando is shocked silent for a second, so Michael keeps it up, picks up the slack, kicks one leg off the edge of the mattress and pounds his heel against the floor slowly, rhythmically. Fernando turns away from Michael's face to look up at the ceiling in the dark. He can't do this otherwise.

"Fernando," Michael moans, softly. Loud enough to carry.

The guard's footsteps click right outside their door.

"Oh," Fernando says. Then he says, "Oh, _dios mio_ , oh, Michael – "

"Yes," Michael says, with that sharp edge of command in his voice, "yes, yes, please," and he throws in another groan and thumps his heel against the floor again.

Fernando thinks about the guard who's just outside, thinks about Andy or Agusto in the cell next door, thinks about Michael's sudden question the other day. Then he thinks, fuck it.

"Michael," he says, because it seems important, "Michael, yeah, fuck me."

There's a little pause, and then Michael says, "Turn over."

Fernando almost does before he remembers that they're pretending.

Michael scrabbles against the fabric of the mattress to simulate motion, then rubs the palm of his hand against his arm to make the sound of skin against skin. He's good at this, pretending.

"Ohhh," Michael says, long and slow, and Fernando can tell that it's the sound Michael would make fucking into someone, easing himself into a tight, hot hole.

"God, Michael," Fernando says, closing his eyes tight against the dark prison cell and forcing himself to take rough, heavy breaths. "Harder, faster, do it – "

"I got you," Michael says, which doesn't sound like sex talk at all except that of course it does, it does coming from him. "I got you, it's okay."

Fernando takes another harsh breath and figures the guard is out of range by now and groans low in his throat, pretending to come. Michael takes the hint and does the same. Then they both pant for a little while for verisimilitude.

"Uh, so, we should finish with the mattress," Fernando says eventually. Michael shakes his head.

"Too dangerous, if they've changed the guard schedule or the bedcheck schedule. I'll try again tomorrow."

It turns out that the mattress isn't actually wedged, and comes back out easily. Fernando heaves it back onto Michael's bedframe and picks the sheets up off the floor.

"I got it, Sucre," Michael says, taking the sheets from him. "Why don't you get some sleep."

"Okay, Papi," Fernando says. He climbs up to his bunk, but doesn't sleep for a while.

*

Fernando wakes up to the feel of Michael's hands on his shoulders, not shaking him awake but just pressing there, holding there, silent and still in the darkness. He blinks and shakes off the dream he was having. He meets Michael's eyes.

"What, what is it?" His voice cracks and he still feels half-asleep, so he clears his throat and sits up a little, leaning on his elbows. "Are we trying to move the mattress again?"

Michael doesn't answer him, but he starts to pull away, moves as if to jump back down from where he's climbed up the side of the bunk.

Fernando frowns. "You want me to hang a sheet?"

At that, Michael turns back to him, puts a hand back on his shoulder. "No, I don't," he says, whispers. "No, Fernando, I don't want you to hang a sheet, I want – I want you to – "

And Michael bends down, and kisses him on the mouth, slowly.

"Okay," Fernando says, a little later, when he's got his hand cupped around Michael's skull, when Michael's shifted to set his long hard body half on top of Fernando, when Fernando has run the palm of his other hand over Michael's broad chest, he says, "okay, okay, okay," all in a hush.

Michael kisses him again, hungry, and this time Fernando leans up into it, meeting Michael's hot mouth and his fast tongue and wrapping his arms around him and hauling him physically closer. He thought a lot about fucking Michael, just as part of his job, but he never thought about this, kissing, closeness, the smell of his body and the heat of his skin, the sheer size and strength of him draped over Fernando like a blanket.

Fernando dips his hand past the waistband of Michael's sweatpants, reaches inside to palm over Michael's smooth hip and down to cover his cock. Michael closes his eyes and puts his face into Fernando's neck, his hands moving quickly and efficiently to pull at Fernando's pants.

"You've done this before," Fernando says. His voice sounds loud, suddenly. "You do this on the outside?"

Michael looks up at him, hands stilling, face calm and neutral again. He nods slowly.

This time, Fernando lowers his voice to a whisper, just loud enough for Michael to hear. "That's okay. I only ever done it on the inside."

Michael raises one eyebrow and shifts his hips just a little, rubbing against Fernando's hand. Fernando reaches out, up, grabs Michael's hand and puts it back on his dick. He wants to groan when Michael wraps a hot tight fist around him, wants to call out his name, but just as he draws in breath to speak, he opens his eyes again to see Michael lift his other hand, one finger held against his smiling lips.

 _Shhhhhh._

All the air goes out of him in a swift rush of breath. Michael's hand drags slowly up over his cock, then down and then up again harder but Fernando doesn't make a sound, not one word or moan or curse. He rubs his palm against the soft head of Michael's cock and watches, gratified, grateful, as Michael's mouth opens silently and his eyes stutter closed just for a moment. Then he leans down again and they kiss again, rubbing each other off wet and slick now, and Fernando thinks it's going to finish like this, just like this.

But then Michael's lips slide off his mouth and warm breath falls against his ear, and Michael says, very quietly,

"I want you to fuck me,"

so quietly in fact that Fernando isn't sure that he heard anything at all. He rolls Michael onto his side on the narrow bed, putting him up against the wall, pressing against him. Michael goes willingly, kisses him, squeezes his dick meaningfully. Then he presses Michael down, facedown into the mattress, and Michael does that willingly too, spreads his legs and spreads his arms and turns his head back to stare up at Fernando in the dark.

Fernando works Michael's sweats off, runs his hands over the hard painted muscles of Michael's shoulders and down his spread-eagle arms to his wrists, pushes down briefly. Michael's breathing picks up but he doesn't speak, doesn't speak. Michael rolls his head and presses his forehead into the pillow. His mouth is open, Fernando can see from this angle, open and gleaming wet where he licked his lips.

When he pushes up naked against Michael's back, Michael's ass, he feels the old familiarity of prison sex come crashing in again; but it shatters when he puts his mouth down between Michael's shoulderblades, when he slides his spit-slick fingers first into Michael's ass. He wishes, suddenly, that he had a condom, not because he's really worried about either of them having anything, but because he knows what it means on the outside – safety, respect, care. Beneath him, Michael writhes against Fernando's fingers, pushing back, fists gripping the bedframe. He curls his fingers inside, slow, sweet, gentle, as much care as he can offer, and Michael's breathing is fast but carefully controlled, still almost silent against the rough prison sheets.

He wants to speak, but knows it's the wrong thing to do. So he runs his fingers along Michael's body in careful little touches, nudging at his hip till he comes up on his knees, pressing with his palm until he shifts away from the wall. Then Fernando eases in behind him, his front to Michael's back and their thighs together. He's shaking a little now with need and with the need to keep quiet. His dick rubs between Michael's cheeks, sweet and soft. He can't help but get his mouth on Michael's skin, just above the blue-black lines of the prison bars that cover his back, can't help but kiss him there where the skin is clean and brown-freckled, untouched. Michael turns his head and kisses Fernando's mouth awkwardly, sweetly.

Fernando breaks away and gets his forehead between Michael's broad shoulders and runs his hands down Michael's hips. Michael shifts and hooks one ankle around Fernando's knee, tugging him in, ready. Fernando pushes his wet dick into Michael's ass and he's too hot and the sheets are constricting around his right calf and he wishes to god he could hear Michael speak his name and it's nothing like his fantasies and it's perfect, just what he needed, all of Michael below him, panting, sweating, open.

When he fucks in the first time Michael does groan, a short sound deep in his chest, stopped by his closed lips. Fernando slows down, strokes Michael's shoulder, waits. Michael nods: _go on_.

Fernando draws out slowly, breathes in time with his rhythm, and then pushes in again, exhaling, as Michael exhales too. They breathe together through it, quiet, private: in, out; in, out. It goes on, just like that, for a long, long time.

Fernando finds Michael's cock, fists it, strokes it, holds it; at some point Michael's hand goes back to find Fernando's hip, urging him on, a little faster, a little harder. Michael's short blunt fingernails leave little half-moons of pain along Fernando's skin. He wants to go faster, harder, is just starting to speed up his hand on Michael's dick and his dick in Michael's ass when he hears a sound he's used to listening for: the click-click of boots on concrete, the guard coming by on his rounds.

Michael hears it before Fernando does; Michael is still beneath him, silent, breathing fast and almost inaudible through his nose. Fernando pushes down into him and lies on top of him, covers him up, and just as the guard goes by their cell he kisses Michael's neck, the soft skin below his ear and Michael arches beneath him, arches as Fernando shifts his hips just slightly, as he squeezes Michael's dick just a little harder. Not enough motion to make a sound. Not enough motion to attract the guard's attention.

"Michael," Fernando says, into Michael's ear, so quiet that he can barely hear himself speak.

Michael's head turns to the side so that Fernando can see him in profile, and it's like he's lost in it, eyes closed and mouth open like he wants to speak, yell, groan, scream. He comes all over Fernando's hand, all over the bed; he makes no sound.

As the click of the guard's boots gets further and further away, Fernando starts to move again, just a little, stroking in and out of Michael easily. Michael shifts and rocks beneath him, clenching his ass, and Fernando buries his face in Michael's shoulder and says his name over and over and over again, so quiet that it only passes between them, so quiet that it's only a shape on Fernando's breath, says his name again and again on every fast little stroke until the stillness of the room and the warmth of Michael's body become too much and Fernando's teeth scrape Michael's skin as he comes.

They lay together for what seems like a long time, there in the dark, until Fernando slips out of Michael's ass and Michael's breath is slow and steady and calm. Until Michael rolls over onto his back to gaze up at him.

Fernando wants to kiss him again, but it feels strange now, awkward without the push of sex driving him on. Instead he reaches out and clasps Michael's right hand with his own, palms together like the beginning of an arm-wrestling match. Michael squeezes back, then sits up easily and rolls to the side, climbing back down the side of the bunk.

He puts his hand on Fernando's shoulder like he did before, looks down at him. Clears his throat. "You know that tomorrow we have to pretend again," he says. His voice is husky. "I have to get that mattress over to B wing."

Fernando nods, and he says, "I know," and now he leans up to kiss Michael's mouth. Michael kisses him back, hard, hot. When they pull apart, Fernando says Michael's name again, says, "Michael," and Michael stills, waits for new input, waits to hear what Fernando has to say.

Fernando says, "I wasn't ever pretending," and he meets Michael's eyes and grins at him, and Michael smiles back like he's surprised, like this wasn't the input he was anticipating.

"Okay," he says. The corner of his mouth is tilted up like he can't quite get control over it. Fernando reaches out and gives him a little push on the chest. Michael drops down into the bottom bunk, still smiling.

"Get some sleep, Papi," he says, fondly.

"Hey Fernando," Michael says cheerfully, a minute later, rustling under his sheets.

"What?"

"Did you tell Agnew Rodriguez that you gag me during sex?"

Fernando laughs. "Maybe. Are you asking because you – "

"Just want to know what role I play," Michael finishes, voice slow and hot. Fernando closes his eyes to savour the image, the idea.

After a while, he lets his arm fall off the side of the bed, so that before too long Michael reaches up and touches just the tips of his fingers to the tips of Fernando's fingers. He goes to sleep like that, reaching out for Michael, feeling Michael reach out for him.


End file.
